The Mark of the Harkonnen
by Old Toad
Summary: Starbug enters the Imperium and heads for Arrakis. How can the crew possibly survive, knowing nothing about Dune, sandworms, Fremen or the Harkonnen?


Dave Lister, The Cat and Kryten are aboard Starbug, lost somewhere in space but still in contact with Holly on Red Dwarf.

"Dave," calls Holly, "I've found you a planet."

Dave wants to be asleep and acts as though he is.

"You will be in orbit by tomorrow."

Muffled silence.

"Dave, I think it's inhabited."

"Wake me when it is."

An hour passes, Starbug advances, an alarm clangs throughout the little vessel. Dave Lister gives up and sits bleary-eyed in his bunk. "Kryten, Holly, what the smeg!"

Holly's laconic voice rises above the clamour: "A near miss, Dave. You came within a light second of something very big, some sort of space craft."

"Should we hail it?"

"Can't, Dave, it's gone again."

"Moving fast was it?"

"Dunno Dave: it just appeared in front of you; then it wasn't in your way anymore, it vanished. Just as well really."

"Why's that?"

"Because if it had hung around they would be scraping Starbug off their windscreen by now."

"Yike!" Dave hoists himself to his feet and pads barefoot through to the cockpit, raising his voice to a scream as he goes: "KRYTEN_:_ ANY CHANCE OF SHUTTING OFF THAT _SMEGGING_ ALARM?"

The sudden change to silence gives Dave almost as big a jolt as when the alarm sounded. In the cockpit Kryten is in the navigation chair: "All clear now Mr Lister, sir, nothing in detector range. We have an image of the object, spaceship, whatever it was."

A vast metallic cylinder fills the main the viewing screen.

Dave collapses into the nearest chair. "Did we really get that close?"

"Not quite Mr Lister. It was BIG: think of Red Dwarf and double it."

"Yes…?"

"Well it was a lot bigger than that."

"Holly, do we know what it was?"

"It's not in my main databanks, Dave, but I've looked through some material we picked up recently. There's a picture in The I Spy Book of Space Ships of something that looks like that: it's called a **Guild Heighliner**."

"Yeh? Is it military? Is it human?"

"The I Spy Book of Space Ships says it's a transporter used to carry smaller craft between systems."

"Holly, who is running it, is the crew _human_?"

"Good question Dave. … It isn't clear, but they may be some form of evolved or modified human. You can ask when you make planet fall."

"What do we know about this planet? You said it _might_ be inhabited?"

"Very little Dave; there is life there, but it's not very hospitable."

"What, strangers not welcome, high taxes, that sort of thing? Like Switzerland?"

"It's hot and parched dry. Imagine the Sahara Desert covering the whole planet. … Oh, and Dave?"

"Yes."

"I'm losing contact with you. I'm activating Rimmer while I still can. Good luck Dave, bye."

..ooOoo..

Arnold Rimmer and Dave Lister are in the front seats of the cockpit; Kryten is busy elsewhere. There is a loud 'ping' and a red light starts flashing on the console in front of Rimmer.

"We are being hailed, Lister." Rimmer flips some switches and a strange cheeping and crackling noise comes through the intercom. The screen remains blank.

Dave gets busy at his console. "I can't see anything, they are either shielded or out of range. Is there a message in that noise?"

"Starbug is trying to decode it. It's a repeated message." He switches the sound off.

"Have we replied?"

"I thought I could send them a recording of you playing guitar Listy, it's an equally vile sound."

"Right now we have more pressing matters than promoting my undoubted talent. … KRYTEN: ALL HANDS ON DECK."

Kryten appears wearing a rather fetching pinny. He takes the navigation console still wearing it. The Cat slips in from somewhere else and takes the fourth seat.

Rimmer takes command: "Kryten, some unseen ship is hailing us, but Starbug is unable to decipher the message. Run it through your processor thingies PDQ!"

"It's a repeating _text_ message, Mr Rimmer, not video or sound. And if I'm not very much mistaken it's encoded in nothing more than a modified version of good old UTF8. Perhaps Youtee Eff's eight and a half?"

He laughs silently at this pathetic attempt at a joke, which goes so far over the heads of the others as to be un-noticed. "O, never mind. It says 'Independent trader 456 requests your ID … or we fire.'"

"Is that it?"

"Well I think I've got the gist of it Mr Rimmer. They are using coded text to make it more difficult for us to locate them."

"Can we reply in the same way?" asks Dave. "Tell them we are the scout ship Starbug 1 and are looking for a planet where we can take on provisions."

"Very good Mr Lister. Should I tell them we are unarmed and mean them no harm?"

"No way!" The Cat calls, "Keep them guessing. Saying you're unarmed is inviting them to attack."

"I have sent them your message Mr Lister. I am now running the long-range scanner to try and locate them. … Oh My!"

"YES?" from Rimmer and Lister in unison.

"I've found Holly's planet ahead. We should be there in … five hours."

"Oh," from Rimmer and Lister together.

Dave has a thought: "We've come across 'Independent Traders' before, haven't we? … And we know what that really means don't we? Smugglers! … Just tell them we are heading for that planet and ask them its name."

There is a short pause, then "They say it is called 'Arrakis' and I quote: 'If you don't know it, then you are from far outside the Imperium. It is the spice planet, go there at your own peril.' … I do hope my decoding is accurate."

Dave Lister rubs his stubble. "A _spice_ planet? Sounds good."

"_Are_ they going to fire on us?"

"No Mr Rimmer, sir. They say, and again I quote: 'the Harkonnens will take care of you.'"

Rimmer looks alarmed: "Kryten, what are 'Harkonnens'?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

Rimmer's voice rises to near hysteria: "ASK THE SMUGGLERS, YOU METAL MORON, WE NEED TO KNOW."

"Sorry Mr Rimmer, they are out of range, they've gone."

"HOLLY, WHAT ARE 'HARKONNENS'?"

"Mr Rimmer sir, we lost contact with Red Dwarf four hours, thirty seven minutes ago."

"Oh, great! We are running short of supplies. We have lost contact with Red Dwarf. We are set on course for an inhospitable planet-sized ball of hot sand. And we will be '_taken care of_' by … by Harkonns … whatever they are! Somehow I don't think that means we'll be offered a decent meal and a change of underwear."

It's 'Harkonnens', Mr Rimmer sir."

..ooOoo..

"So that is Arrakis, eh, Kryten?" Arnold Rimmer is looking at the great white globe turning slowly below them. He has recovered his composure. "Is it entirely cloud covered?"

"It isn't cloud at all, Mr Rimmer, that shiny white is sand. The scanner shows a human population of several million. Starbug is searching for a place to land; there seems to be only two sizable cities and a scattering of small towns and villages. The rest of the planet is either sand or rock; there's no open water at all.

Dave Lister adds "It's dryer than a shelf full economics books in a heat wave."

"You're familiar with 'economics books' are you Lister? You've studied the dismal science?"

Kryten tries to head off a pointless squabble: "According to Starbug's scanners several small ships have come in to land, or taken off, while we've been in orbit, but there's been nothing on the radio."

"That would fit with there being smugglers here" says Dave, "But what in the name of smeg do they smuggle?"

"Sand?" suggests Cat.

..ooOoo..

On a civilian landing field on the edge of the city of Arrakeen there are two battered ornithopters, foil wings folded, and three beautifully sleek, silvery space craft which dwarf the 'thopters. Behind those, a great green bulbous monstrosity looms large and ugly: Starbug has landed.

The whole site seems deserted, and there is no sign of transport. Rimmer and Lister begin the long, hot stroll into town along an empty, dusty road. Soon they come to a barrier across the road, a military checkpoint. Arrakeen is under de facto martial law. Three soldiers in combat gear totting massive hand weapons bar their way. "Papers!" demands one.

Lister and Rimmer walk slowly towards them, hands up, wondering what to say or do. Weapons are levelled at them and they stop. One soldier swaggers towards them; he looks Lister up and down, then he looks Rimmer down and up and stiffens, taken aback by something. He steps back, out of their way, and mutters into something on his wrist. The others fall back, lowering their weapons. Lister and Rimmer silently walk on, the barrier is raised and they walk under it and on, silently wondering what is happening. They master the urge to run away from those grim-faced men, and keep to a slow pace, skin crawling, fearing the worst: a shot in the back or a sudden call to 'freeze,' but nothing happens.

Two minutes later, awash with relief, Rimmer is strutting along with a wide grin on his face, with a puzzled Lister struggling to keep up without falling into step. The road is still deserted and dusty, it runs now between low buildings which are mostly shuttered and closed up. The nearby sound of wildly discordant twanging is the one sign of inhabitants.

"I take it all back Listy: compared to that racket you are another George Formby."

Lister grins briefly. "Hang on … Didn't George Formby played the ukulele."

"Yes, and he was a comedian like his father."

There is a second military checkpoint ahead, much more substantial than the first. A patient queue of figures in long, grubby robes, heads bowed, waits in single file to pass through the gate. A row of soldiers equipped with nightsticks and handguns stands close guard. Other soldiers with larger weapons peer over the tops of the barriers. As they approach, a single man in a smart uniform very different from the fatigues of the other soldiers struts out to meet them. "You are to enter the city?"

Rimmer manages to stutter out a strangled "Yes." The officer mutters under his breath "Kull Wahad, what happened to him?" Aloud he says "Follow me."

One minute later they have been silently waived through the checkpoint, and are walking past a sullen row of people waiting to pass the other way, each clutching their papers.

Rimmer is jaunty and smirking broadly: "You've either got it or you haven't, eh Lister, and I've got it in spades: charisma, presence, natural authority. One look at me is enough."

Dave, however, thinks he knows what is going on: "Don't be so dense, man, they're mistaking you for someone else. The trouble is, when they realise their mistake … They don't look the type to laugh it off and buy us a drink to show there's no hard feelings."

Rimmer changes the subject: "Did you notice that officer's eyes?"

"What about them?"

"They were blue."

"So?"

"All blue – no whites!"

"Struth, wonder what happened to him?"

Soon they are in a bustling city square, with people, smells and noise. There are no animals and no vehicles but small hand carts and the odd suspensor sledge; otherwise they could be in almost any town or city in the 20th century of Earth's Middle East. Lister and Rimmer are obvious outsiders: everyone else wears either loose robes or a tight-fitting outfit like a bulky wetsuit which they will later learn is called a 'stillsuit.' No one will look them in the eye, so it is sometime before they realise that almost everyone has blue-in-blue eyes. More obvious is the whispering behind their backs; several times they hear an expletive 'Harkonnen.'

Staying close together, and straining to look nonchalant, our heroes wander around. It is not long before, when turning a corner, they are grabbed by many strong hands, dragged through a doorway and flung to the floor. Chemical-soaked cloths are held over their faces and Dave Lister is unconscious in seconds.

Arnold Rimmer is a hard-light hologram; rendering him unconscious requires specialist equipment and/or knowledge. However, the sight of grim-faced men advancing on him with long-bladed knives held high is sufficiently stressful that he faints.

..ooOoo..

Lister comes to in darkness; his hands and feet tightly bound, his head pounding and a disgusting taste in his parched mouth. It was like old times.

"Still with us, Lister?" Rimmer is nearby, and by the sound of it unharmed. But then, how can you harm a hologram?

"Where are we Rimmer, what's happening?"

"I've never been so glad I'm dead: I've got them really puzzled. They've kept you alive because of me."

"You Harkonnens are ready to talk?" Two men have come in, bringing a light with them; their eyes are dark blue-in-blue.

"What is a 'Harkonnen'?" asks Rimmer.

"You come to us bearing the mark of the Harkonnen; you are a Harkonnen thing. What has been done to you that even our crysknives do not harm you?" ask one of the men.

A second man leaps in with his question: "You are tools of Beast Raban. What is his purpose in bringing you to Arrakis?"

The third's question is the most chilling: "Why don't we just kill them now and get out of here? We don't want the Harkonnens coming down on us in force."

"We should take them to Muad'Dib; he should see this Harkonnen that is so hard to kill."

Rimmer is exasperated: "WHAT IS A HARKONNEN? I WANT TO KNOW!"

The leader answers calmly, like a school teacher giving instruction: "The Harkonnens are our enemy. We, the Fremen, fight to free Arrakis from their yoke. For many years we have struggled against their cruel domination. Under Raban Harkonnen, the baron's nephew, their persecution has reached new depths, but we are winning the fight. Soon there will be no Harkonnen left alive on Arrakis. But you know this: you carry the mark of the Harkonnen on your forehead. Why else should the Harkonnen troops let you through their blockades?"

Dave Lister is still groggy, but Rimmer understands at once: "Ah, there is your mistake: it isn't 'H' for 'Harkonnen,' it is 'H' for 'hologram.' I died …"

"As I thought, you are some new form of Tleilaxu ghola. Muad'Dib has warned us to beware the cunning trickery of the Bene Tleilax."

The three Fremen discuss what to do with their captives. They agree that taking the ghola to Muad'Dib would be too dangerous: "It is probably a weapon aimed at our leader."

Dave Lister has a suggestion: "We are not your enemies, let us go."

"Yes, we will." The leader turns to his men: "This is my decision: we will take them to the open desert and leave them with a thumper. Shai-Hulud will dispose of them."

..ooOoo..

The stolen ornithopter lifts off, leaving Dave Lister and Arnold "the ghola" Rimmer trussed up and helpless on the desert sands. Their captors have assured them that their last sight would be Shai-Hulud, "a fitting end for such as you."

"Dave, what do think this Shai-Hulud will be?"

"Dunno, but I reckon it'll be unpleasant and final. I just hope it'll be soon."

"What? You can't mean that!"

"Well, what could be worse than lying here for hours, not knowing what's coming, dreading an unknown death? I'd rather get it over with."

The thumper starts pounding, giving them a horrible scare until they realise what it is.

"Lister, if we do get out of this alive, promise me one thing?"

"Oh yeh, what's that?"

"That you won't _ever_ call me a 'ghola'!"

"Promise."

"What do you think that thumper thing is for?"

"Didn't you hear them? It calls Shai-Hulud to come and 'dispose' of us," says Lister. "What do you suppose Shai-Hulud could be?"

"Some great animal perhaps? What about a man-eating camel?"

"Or some great bird? Like the Roc in the story of Aladdin. If those ornithopters can fly why not a bird that size?"

A shadow passes over them, and looking up they can make out some great shape between them and the sun."

"Oh good god, you were right Lister, a bird that size could swallow us whole!"

"Relax you gumboid, it's Starbug! They must have tracked your light projector."

Starbug lands close, Kryten and The Cat leap out and with frantic haste drag Lister and Rimmer into it. Only after takeoff do they find time to cut their bonds.

"Thanks for that," gasps Lister, "but why the hurry?"

"Take a look through the cockpit window," says The Cat.

The great sandworm, which had come so close to crushing Starbug, is now rearing up in a vain attempt to reach them as they continue to soar. The great mouth is open wide and endless rows of knife-blade teeth are clearly visible. Even through the walls of Starbug they seem to smell its hot, spicy odour. Dave and Rimmer are speechless for once, but not so The Cat: "Think of the bird that can take one of those worms!"

A few minutes later Dave realises that he is desperately thirsty: "Kryten, I need a can and I need it now."

Kryten hangs his head and looks away, his face a picture of misery. "Come and look in the cargo bay" says The Cat, who seems very pleased with himself. There, there are heaps of goods, clothing, food, all the things that they lacked. "We did some trading," boasts The Cat. "As soon as it got dark lots of the locals came around Starbug, offering stuff they'd stolen from the off-world soldiers. I even got crates of tinned pilchards!"

"Trading? What did we have to trade?" asks Rimmer.

"Well, there were those 'magazines' of Lister's, the _special_ ones with pictures of young ladies. The locals practically fought each other for those, especially the men."

Rimmer grins and Dave sighs: "Fair enough, but you couldn't have got this lot for just those? Did you? … KRYTEN, MAKE THAT TWO CANS, ICE COLD."

"Well, no, we made a really good swap for all of your booze."

Kryten comes in bearing a steaming mug which he presents to Dave Lister; his manner is still hang-dog and he avoids looking Dave in the eye. "Spice coffee, Mr Lister, the local beverage, they say it is very good for you."

Lister can smell it even from feet away. "Cinnamon coffee, you swapped all – ALL – my drink for flavoured coffee!"

"Not cinnamon Mr Lister, but _melange_, it's the spice this planet is famous for. They say it has remarkable properties."

"Yes," says The Cat helpfully, "It turns your eyes blue!"

..ooOoo..

Next day Starbug is well clear of Arrakis and heading for the last known position of Red Dwarf. Dave Lister, while not happy with his lot, has calmed down and accepted the necessity of what Cat and Kryten have done. Kryten's mood however has not improved and he hardly speaks.

Dave realises that something is wrong and takes Kryten to one side. "Kryten, you know I'm not angry with you; you did what you had to do."

"Thank you, Mr Lister sir, it's good of you to say that."

"There's something else isn't there?"

Kryten nods gloomily.

"Spit it out."

"Sir, you know that my core programming includes the requirement to obey the law? Well, the law in the Imperium, of this entire region of space, says, and I quote: 'Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a human mind.'"

"And ?"

"That's ME, Mr Lister, I am a thinking machine, one who is trying to become human."

"Kryten, I've encouraged you to become more independent, less held back by your initial programming, and I'm proud of that. But you were made _before_ we entered this Imperium; the 'crime' was not committed in this juris ... juris … place. You can't help that you are a machine."

"Thank you Mr Lister, I will hold that thought, and perhaps it will help support me until we have left the Imperium."

"Glad to help."

Leaving the room, Dave meets The Cat and Rimmer coming in, both grinning from ear to ear. "Go easy on Kryten," Dave tells them, "He's feeling … well, _delicate_ at the moment."

"No worries," says The Cat, "This will cheer him up."

"Hello Kryten," says Rimmer, "or should I say 'Beast'?"

"Mr Rimmer, I don't follow you."

Cat explains: "Yesterday, those locals were giving you strange looks, right?"

"Because they saw that I am a mechanoid."

"Take a look at this picture."

"Who is it, he does look like me?"

"Like you!" replies Cat, "He's your spitting image. It's the boss of that sand pit."

"And we know who that is, don't we Kryten?" says Rimmer. "It's governor Raban Harkonnen, the 'Beast,' whose _nasty_ habits those Fremen told us about yesterday. … How does it feel Kryten, to look into a mirror and see 'Beast' looking back at you?"

Kryten is stricken by this jibe, but he has the last word: "Mr Rimmer, you are a ghola."


End file.
